


the good, the bad, and the dirty

by wildwestwind



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), descendants - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masochism, Non-Consensual Bondage, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwestwind/pseuds/wildwestwind
Summary: Harry rapes Ben. Ben likes it.





	the good, the bad, and the dirty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consumptive_sphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/gifts).



The first time the cold metal of Harry’s hook traced across Ben’s cheek, he found himself getting hard.

Ben cursed inwardly. He’d known, of course, that he had-- fantasies. Try as he might to keep his masturbatory fantasies to chaste kisses and thoughts of his wedding night, near orgasm his mind inevitably wandered: to being chained up in a dungeon, to the lash of a whip against his back, to a cold cruel voice that would do whatever it wanted to him. Sometimes, trembling, he had tied up one of his arms or put clothespins on his nipples and imagined that someone else had done it to them, that he was enslaved and any moment they would come and have their way with him. 

Ben had wondered what Snow White or Cinderella would have thought if they knew that in history class his careful attention to their stories was not because of his studiousness but because he was sick. Because he got pleasure from imagining himself suffering what they had suffered. He wondered how he dared to look them in the eyes, knowing what he dreamed of. 

But now a villain had taken him prisoner, the same as a villain had taken them prisoner, and he got off on it. 

Ben was even sicker than he had thought.

The hook stilled. Harry Hook’s sneer was replaced with a look of puzzlement, then a smirk. “You like this.”

Ben couldn’t think of anything to say but the flush that rose up his cheeks answered the question for him. 

“Oh, this is rich,” Harry said. “King Ben, son of Beast, who exiled us all to the Isle, is a little pervert. Gets tortured by a villain and he likes it.” His hot breath made the hairs on Ben’s neck rise. 

“No, I don’t, you’re mad,” Ben said. His protests would probably have been more effective if his cock wasn’t becoming even harder against his leather pants. 

“We all thought it was strange that Mal entranced you,” Harry said. “Maybe a spell-- but no. You’re marrying her because fucking a villain gets you hot. Unless--” Harry looked Ben up and down speculatively. “Unless you don’t like women at all. Tell me, Ben, do you think about those broad-shouldered princes at night when you’re fucking your sweet little ex-villain princess? Which one is it? Chad? Whose hard cock do you think about when you’re coming inside her--”

“Mal and I have never-- done that,” Ben said. “You villains might be promiscuous, but that’s just because you don’t know the true meaning of love. In Auradon we save ourselves--”

Harry looked incredulous. “You’ve never fucked Mal,” he said. “Mal, the slut of the Isle, Mal who takes it up the ass every Thursday from my leftovers, and you haven’t put out.” He laughed. “This is precious, oh my god, poor Mal and her six-month dry spell, she must be going mad-- although I suppose Evie is there to comfort her at night.”

“Mal and Evie are very close friends,” Ben said stiffly, “and I respect that.”

Harry clucked, winding a lock of Ben’s hair around his fingers. “Mal and Evie are much, much more than friends. If you won’t fuck her she’ll get sex somewhere else, that’s Mal’s way.”

“Mal is good,” Ben said. “She would never cheat on me.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said. “Just like she gave up using magic, and just like she’d never want to return to the Isle. Mal is sweetly sharing a room with Evie without even a single thought about what’s under those expensive Auradon underthings.” His voice became a purr. “But enough about Mal. Tonight can be all about you, my little virgin pervert.”

There were all kinds of things that Ben probably should be feeling right now, like the desire to defend Mal against this slander, and betrayal about her cheating on him, and fear about what exactly Harry was planning for him. The problem was that all the blood that normally went to run things like “emotions” was instead pooling in Ben’s dick. 

Harry called out to the pirates. “Change of plans, boys,” he said. “I don’t feel like I’m going to want to torture this one, not tonight. Prepare my rooms, undress him, and tie him up. I don’t want him to get any bright ideas.”

The pirates who undressed Ben were professional and businesslike. They were not concerned with Ben’s comfort while they were undressing him, but also made no particular effort to cause him pain. Conversation drifted around him; it was mostly about some enormously complicated intrigue, which Ben couldn’t follow without a map of the gangs’ territories on the island and a chart of who exactly was dating whom. Ben got the feeling they had prepared many men and women for Harry’s bed before and found it no more interesting than swabbing the decks. 

When Ben was naked, the pirates hustled him into a small room dominated by a single enormous bed. Rope was produced, and Ben was tied spreadeagle onto the bed. The rope was expertly tied: loose enough to be comfortable and avoid cutting off circulation, but tight enough there was no chance Ben could escape. He pulled against it just in case, but it was secure.

Harry entered the room, still clothed. He casually pulled off his shirt, for all the world as if he were changing out of his uniform after tourney practice instead of preparing to do things to Ben that Ben either didn’t want to think about or wanted to think about too much. 

Harry was really hot. He was skinny and underfed in the way all the Island kids were; Ben could see his collarbone. But he had muscles: his lithe biceps and forearms, the defined curves of his shoulders, the beginnings of a sixpack. As Harry turned around to drop his shirt in what must have been the dirty-clothes corner, his back muscles flexed.

Ben had lost his erection in the getting-undressed-and-tied-up process, but his cock began to stir watching Harry undress.

Um.

Well then. 

Ben had been aware that, in addition to his sick fantasies about being tied up and tortured, he had other sick fantasies about having sex with men. Well, sort of. Certainly his fantasies featured male torturers as much as female torturers, and he’d sometimes thought about kissing Jay or Carlos or the guys on the tourney team. But his torture-free fantasies usually grew vague once they passed the kissing and nakedness part. He’d learned about how babies were made, but men didn’t have vaginas, so he had been left with a good deal of uncertainty about how one accomplished sex with them. Possibly you couldn’t. Possibly that was why it was forbidden.

But if you could have sex with men, Ben had an awkward feeling he was going to find out. 

Harry, completely oblivious to Ben’s dilemma, pulled off his pants and underwear, revealing an equally powerful set of leg muscles and a half-hard penis and Ben was just going to pretend he was looking at the ceiling. What a very nice ceiling. There was nothing to be afraid of with the ceiling. 

“You can look at it,” Harry said with a tone of mild annoyance.

Ben was counting the dark splotches on the ceiling, which he somewhat hoped were water damage and not stains from a rather overenthusiastic murder.

“You wanted me, little king,” Harry said. “And that-- entertains me. I like the idea of the King of Auradon with his hand cupping his balls, rock hard because of memories of what I did to him. And if your girlfriend doesn’t bring me the wand--” Ben was still looking at the ceiling, but he could tell Harry was smiling. “I want to give you a nice last night of your life. No one ever said I wasn’t merciful.”

Ceiling. Ceiling ceiling. Ben was going to spend some time thinking about the dubious structural integrity of this place and not thinking about the fact that his sexual fantasies had come to life.

“So, here’s the thing,” Harry said, his tone collegial. “You can’t stop me. You’re my prisoner. I can torture you, if I want”-- he stroked gently along Ben’s leg with his hook--“or I can make you feel more pleasure than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. You don’t have to feel guilty if it’s the second. No one can blame you. It’s not your fault.” Harry punctuated his last four words with four light taps of his hook against Ben’s leg. 

Ben shuddered. 

Harry leaned over Ben. Ben felt the warm heavy weight of his body pressing against him, and he could feel Harry’s erection against his thigh. Harry whispered into Ben’s ear, his hot breath sending shivers down Ben’s spine. “You can just relax and enjoy yourself, little king.” He nipped at Ben’s ear, lightly, not enough to cause pain. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. How could it? I forced you. It’s not like you could have said ‘no.’”

Ben knew that there was no magic on the island, but he briefly wondered if Harry was a telepath. How else could Harry know what his fantasies were so intimately? To be trapped, to be unable to fight back, and thus to have permission to do things that the king of Auradon could never do. Things that were villainous. Evil. 

Pleasure throbbed from between his legs.

Harry put a hand firmly in Ben’s hair and before Ben could do anything Harry was kissing him.

The strangest thing was how similar it was to kissing Mal or Audrey. Kissing one person was not, after all, that much different from kissing another: there were lips, and tongues, and wetness, and pleasure. But neither Mal nor Audrey would have held his hair with such firmness-- not hurting, but directing, guiding him into the kiss that Harry wanted to have. Neither Mal nor Audrey would have taken such charge of the kiss. Harry was treating Ben as an object, using his mouth as something from which Harry could extract the maximum pleasure possible, and odd as it was Harry’s very disregard for Ben’s pleasure gave him more pleasure. 

Unlike Mal or Audrey, when Harry moaned against Ben’s mouth, the moan was deep. And the scent of him was indescribably male. 

Ben could have kissed him for hours. But Harry sat back onto the bed, admiring him, tracing the hook gently along his chest. “Tell me, king,” he said, “do you like pain?” And the hook turned sharp and cruel and so intensely pleasurable that Ben couldn’t think, and his back arched and he pulled against his bonds and made a whimpering noise. 

“You do,” Harry said, pleased. “Or maybe you don’t. Maybe that’s how anyone would react to getting a hook drawn along their skin. Good thing I don’t care.” He rummaged in the chest below his bed, eventually pulling out a handful of ordinary clothespins. 

Ben had used clothespins before. He had experimented with whatever implements of pain he could get his hands on-- rubber bands, ice, even knives-- but had found that clothespins offered the most satisfying pain and left your hands free to masturbate at the same time. It seemed like Harry Hook had had the same idea. Ben could not deny to himself that the emotion he felt right then was eagerness.

“Let’s just get these on you,” Harry said, “to keep your attention.” He placed a clothespin on Ben’s nipple. It burned, fiery hot, for a moment, then subsided into the back of Ben’s consciousness, only to flare up again when Harry added the second. 

“Hrm,” Harry said, “you’d look pretty with a few more, wouldn’t you?” Without delay, Harry adorned Ben with two lines of three clothespins down his torso. Ben moaned and thrashed against the bonds. 

It was hard to think. He couldn’t concentrate on anything except how much the clothespins hurt, and the pain transmuted itself into pleasure. He was a thing to Harry. A beautiful toy to be decorated without regard to how much it made him suffer. And that made his cock throb and long to be touched.

“Another thing to keep your attention,” Harry said, and suddenly he had a small round thing with a flared base in his hand, and a vial of some sort of oil. Ben did not know what that was. He attempted to be frightened; a normal person in his situation would be frightened. But between the clothespins on his stomach and nipples and his incredibly hard cock, it was hard to think about anything. Harry would do whatever he wanted to him. There was nothing he could do but wait.

Harry sat between Ben’s legs and put some of the oil on his fingers. His hand moved as if it were going to touch Ben’s balls-- his cock jumped at the thought-- but instead Harry went lower. His fingers pushed inside Ben’s asshole. 

In a flash, Ben understood how two men had sex. 

And then Harry did-- something-- and a wave of pleasure crested through Ben’s body like nothing he had ever felt before. He was moaning wantonly. The pleasure erased even the pain of the clothespins. He suddenly wanted to be filled, to be split apart, to have something inside him. He wanted-- yes-- he wanted Harry’s cock, he wanted Harry on top of him and inside him and pounding and thrusting and--

“Uh, uh, uh,” Harry chided. “No coming until I say so. --Not that it matters, I’m going to use your body regardless, but you will be punished.” He flicked Ben’s dick with the fingers of his other hand, and Ben’s eyes rolled back in his head and he saw stars. 

“Am I going to have to put you in chastity?” Harry asked. Ben wasn’t entirely sure what ‘put in chastity’ meant, but he could guess. If he were in his right mind, it would appall him. As it was he merely groaned as precome leaked out of his dick. 

Harry’s fingers pulled out of Ben’s ass. If anyone had asked, Ben would have told them that his moan was not a moan of protest, but merely an involuntary reaction. He was not really fooling himself.

At least he had yet to beg.

The fingers were replaced with something cool and metallic. It was the object Harry had been holding. The thing had seemed small in Harry’s hand, but inside of Ben’s ass it felt large, an intrusion pushing into him, forcing his ass to stretch larger than it was able to go. It burned, but the burn felt good. With a slick pop, the object was inside him, and Ben’s ass felt heavy and full. 

“There,” Harry said, “and now to business.” He ran his hand gently, almost lovingly, along Ben’s side, disturbing the clothespins, sending a wave of pain through Ben’s body. The contrast between Harry’s soft touch and the pain it elicited was exquisite. 

“I was going to have more fun with you,” Harry said conversationally. “I was going to make you some memories you would never forget. I have a whole kit in there. All sorts of toys. Some I use for torture, of course, some for pleasure, and there’s quite an overlap between the two… but I’m afraid I underestimated quite how aroused you’d become. We in the Isle, we’re, hm, jaded.” He absently pinched Ben’s thigh, small little pinches that caused a sharp pain. “I wouldn’t want you to come before I was finished and ruin all my fun.”

Ben moaned. He was far enough gone that he could admit to himself that when he heard Harry’s words he felt longing. He wanted to know what was in Harry’s toybox. He wanted to feel the toys that were for pleasure and the ones that were for pleasure and torture and, most of all, he wanted to feel the ones that were for torture, and see if he could enjoy it anyway. It made him shake to imagine how Harry would enjoy torturing him. 

“So let’s move on to the main event,” Harry said. He scooted down the bed a bit and kissed Ben’s knee, an odd, affectionate gesture. Then he kissed up Ben’s thigh. Ben couldn’t help but squirm, and that made the thing in his ass move and the clothespins quiver and sent a thrill through his entire body. Then Harry kissed Ben’s penis. 

It made sense, in theory, that one could kiss a penis. People kissed a lot of other body parts, and really it was Ben’s fault that he hadn’t put together that penises were one of them. Harry’s tongue was feather-light as he licked at Ben’s penis, pressing kisses along the side and the sensitive head. It was not enough, it was so far from enough, and Ben felt this urge to pound into something and keep thrusting until he came. He twisted, pushing his legs up, desperate for touch. 

And then Harry pressed a kiss onto the very top of Ben’s penis, licked once, twice, and then swallowed him down deep into his throat. 

Ben whited out. 

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything, all he could do was feel. It felt like his world had been reduced to the wet warmth around his cock and the heavy sensation in his ass and the little dots of pain where each clothespin was. He thrashed and moaned and every time he moved it moved the clothespins or the thing in his ass and sent more sensations flowing through his entire body. The feelings were so intense that he didn’t know whether what he was feeling was pleasure or pain. His fingers scrabbled against the threadbare sheets. He was about to come. He thrusted into Harry’s mouth. 

Harry stopped moving, and Ben groaned in protest. 

“I’d slap you to get you to calm down,” Harry said, “but it might just make you hornier, isn’t that right, slut?” Ben let out a whimper. 

“I could leave you like this,” Harry said. “I could leave you here all night with clothespins on your chest and a plug in your ass. Maybe some of my pirates would come in here and use you. What do you think of that?”

Ben bit his lip and made a low sound. He thought about cocks and hands and mouths, being used by strangers for their own pleasure, being fucked by people whose names he didn’t know, faceless shadowy bodies that would make him feel so good, that would let him come…

Harry laughed. “Oh, you like that,” he said. “Not such a good threat after all.” He kissed Ben with an odd affection. “What I could do,” he said thoughtfully, “is stop. I could take off the clothespins and take out your plug and untie you and never touch that hard little dick of yours, and leave you alone in this room all by yourself all night. What do you think of that?”

The words escaped Ben’s lips before he could think about it. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ben said, “no, please don’t, please use me, please let me come, I’ll be so good, please please just fuck me please, I-- I’ll do whatever you want, just fuck me.” 

“You want to be fucked,” Harry said. “You want to be fucked when it’s me making you get fucked, because then it’s not your fault.”

Ben nodded enthusiastically. “Please, please, please.”

“Never let it be said I’m not a generous man,” Harry said, and he was kissing Ben, and his hand is on Ben’s throat, and something warm and soft and good surrounded Ben’s penis. 

Ben couldn’t control himself. He thrust up as much as he could with the ropes, and whimpered in frustration when he could barely move at all. Harry laughed, and started riding him. Each thrust jostled the clothespins on Ben’s skin and the thing in his ass. Hot tears seeped out of Ben’s eyes at the intensity. 

“I can kill you,” Harry said, as if discussing the weather. His hand tightened around Ben’s throat and Ben couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air and there was nothing. His penis throbbed and he twisted. Harry could do whatever he wanted to him, Harry could use him, and none of it was his fault, and it was so good. He could feel as good as he wanted about it because no one could blame him, it wasn’t his fault-- 

The thought occurred to Ben, very distant and far away, that it was sick, perverted, evil to be enjoying this-- but he couldn’t breathe and he was so full and stretched and Harry was tight around him and there were lines of fire on his chest that turned to pleasure and it was hard to think about that, it felt so good, he just wanted--

“I will kill you,” Harry said, “if you come before I do.”

Ben made a little noise. He was so close, he was on the verge, every time Harry moved it felt like he would go over the brink, and knowing that Harry could and would kill him only made him want to finish more--

Harry gently rested his thumb against the pulse of Ben’s blood. “You like it,” he said. “You like fucking someone who’ll kill you if you aren’t pleasing.”

Ben doesn’t need to nod. His face shows the truth of what Harry is saying. 

“Unfortunate for you,” Harry says, and yanks his hair. “But I do think that’s hot. Such an eager little toy. So it all comes down to how lucky you are. Does how much you like being threatened with murder turn me on more than it turns you on? Who knows?”

Ben feels every sensation: the shifts of Harry’s weight, the roughness of the sheets, the sweat dripping down his torso. He could try to delay finishing, he could double numbers in his head, he could think about tourney, but it was impossible to do anything but feel; it feels like every nerve is intense.

“You can tell them it’s not your fault,” Harry said casually. “The mean old villain kid raped you.” He sat back, started fucking Ben more roughly, started touching himself. Ben should shut his eyes but he can’t look away from the way Harry’s hand moves over the hardness of his penis, the visible sign that Harry is enjoying violating him. 

“You can tell them that,” Harry said, “but you’ll know and I’ll know the truth. You wanted this. You wanted this from the first time my hook touched your skin. There’s nothing I did to you that you would have said ‘no’ to. That’s why I did it. Everything that happened is your fault.”

And as he says his last word there’s a rush through Ben’s entire body and he feels so good, better than he’s ever felt in his life, and he feels something hot splatter across his chest and he thinks at least I’m not going to die before the pleasure builds to a peak and he has a hard time thinking about much of anything at all.

When he is capable of thinking again, Harry has left. There was come drying on his skin; his skin had gone numb where the clothespins are touching it; the thing was painful in his overstimulated ass. He felt used and dirty and guilty and also the happiest and most at peace that he ever has in his entire life. 

A pirate came in. Ben’s penis stirred at being seen like this, vulnerable, objectified, the use to which he has been put obvious. The pirate took off the clothespins; Ben winced as blood rushes into the skin that had been pinched. The pirate removed the thing with the same casualness that one would use to throw away laundry; the stretch hurt but felt so good, like the moment just before you get your second wind in a race. It was clear that the pirate doesn’t care for Ben at all. He untied Ben without any consideration. There was no attempt to wipe the come off his skin. 

By the time the pirate left, Ben was hard again.

He stared at his penis, willing it to go down. If anything, it got harder. He flipped onto his stomach so at least he didn’t have to look at it. 

Harry’s words danced through his head. You’ll know and I’ll know the truth. Everything that happened is your fault. 

Without noticing he’d started to grind his dick against the bed. The sensation was too much and not enough. 

He remembered what Harry said about Mal. Could she--? Was it possible--? He imagined telling her all his sickest and most shameful fantasies, imagined telling her exactly what happened with him and Harry, imagined telling her that it was his fault. He imagined her getting angry, feeling betrayed, telling him he was sick and perverted for even wanting it. 

(His hand snaked between his legs.)

And if she was really angry at him she’d punish him. Maybe she’d pull him over her knees and spank him. Maybe she’d torture him with some implements she got from the Isle, with knives or fire or something he couldn’t even imagine. Maybe she’d make him lick her feet, or beg to be allowed to lick her feet, crawling on his belly, calling himself all sorts of nasty names so she knew exactly how much he regretted his actions.

(His hand moved quickly on his penis.)

Or maybe she would want to help. Maybe she wouldn’t let him finish until he could finish to a sweet and loving fantasy about her. Maybe she would get him right up close to the edge and then he’d think about her hurting him and then he’d have to tell her and she wouldn’t let him finish, again and again, for hours, and then he’d be quivering, and she’d say “well, I guess you’re just not going to get to come again,” and he’d have to go through all day frustrated and desperate. And she’d have to help him, of course, she’d have to walk around his apartments naked and brush her skin against his and whisper to him all the things she wanted to do to him, until the only thing he could think about is her and how much he wanted her and how desperate he was for that which he was not allowed to have.

He cried out and added another layer of come to the layer that was already drying. 

And then he turned over and put his face into the pillow and tried to sleep, so he could avoid thinking about any of what had just happened.


End file.
